Underworld
by Yokoku21
Summary: Alternate take on the famour Greek myth of Hades and Persephone, in which a tattooed Hades falls for a Maid and Persephone desires the Boatman, Charon. Four different perspectives of, probably, the weirdest retelling of a loved myth!
1. Chapter 1

**Ive been thinking about doing a fanfiction on this for a long time now, about two different kinds of stories, all encompassed in one twisted up, bent out of shape Greek myth. The one with Persephone and Hades. It's probably been done and polished already, however, I hope you still give this one a chance! :)**

Mary

_**It was the best of times, it was the worst of times- Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities**._

"Did you hear, he's going to bring her here?" The maid sweeping the Upholstery alongside me, whispers. I pretend I don't hear.

"Well...did you?" She persists, sweeping the shelf in long strokes.

I sigh. "Yes. I heard, Laura."

Laura grins, a cheeky smile playing on her full lips. Her blonde hair is stick straight and falls down to her waist. "She's so lucky to belong with the Master. I hear he fucks like a Trojan."

I blink hard, and then swallow, turning around, and making work of the China pot that I have already cleaned. Twice. Laura, meanwhile, continues, oblivious to my discomfort, which isn't a surprise. I'm handy at hiding my emotions, blending into the background. It helps that I'm more than unnoticeable, when it comes to matters of the countenance.

"She's so lucky..." Laura continues. "I wonder if she knows she's lucky."

"I'm sure she does." I say, scrubbing at one particular spot on the China, and not really seeing any difference in the sheen, after several strokes of the cloth.

Laura clears her throat and leans in, conspicuously, like a green spot in the midst of a white background. "Apparently, she doesn't. They say, she's been forced to be with him. Something to do with Pomegranates."

I turn to face her, China forgotten. "I'm sorry, _what?"_

Laura's smiling a cat that ate the proverbial canary. "They say she ate some of the Pomegranates from the Garden of the Damned. Lord Dain has forced her to be with him, because he needs an heir, a respectable one, from the Royal Lineage." Her voice lowers to a whisper as she leans in conventionally. "They say she_ resists_ him."

I smile at Laura and she smiles back, obviously missing the bitter tinge of my lips. Her hair hangs over one shoulder, falling around her waist. I feel drab in comparison to her, my hair coiled back in a tight knot at the base of my neck, and covered with a dirty cloth, so it doesn't get in the way of the cleaning. And the cooking. When I spot my countenance in the mirror above, I see a subservient, background Maid. Nothing more. And I've never regretted such a feat, until up about five years ago, when The last King became replaced with Lord Dain.

Up until a few years, I wouldn't have chosen to be anyone else. But that was before I fell in love with the one person that would never be mine. The Lord of the Underworld, Hades.

Or, Dain Odessey, as he is known to his subjects.

I school my features into a pleasant expression, plain and straight, as Laura continues to talk. "They say she comes from the Land of the Living."

I open my mouth to reply something caustic, such as, it is no surprise, considering The King himself comes from the Land of the Living, when I'm interrupted by a couple of gasps around us, from the other servants, and Laura and I turn, to face a groups of servants all staring down the Grand Vestibule.

To see the Master himself walk down the Parlour. And my heart almost leaps out of my chest at the sight of him.

He is not a conventional King. The Legacy of Hades is passed down generation by generation, and Lord Dain had come from the Land of the Living, originally, his features, classically handsome, but...different.

He has black hair, which falls straight down to his collar, a slight fringe falling across his forehead. High cheekbones, lightly tanned skin. Perfect in every way. But odd, in every other. For, he has strange metal bars above his eyebrows, and a piercing on his lip and tongue. Strange markings on his beautiful skin. Never seen before. And his eyes...

One is green, and the other is blue.

He often wears nothing but black, black, heavy looking clothes, black boots. His talk is far from regal and his words and manner, he speaks in prose. He is far from Kingly.

But when he commands, he commands like a Master. And when he speaks his words are weighed down with a thousand promises of the fiercest of retributions should one disobey.

"Servants." Lord Dain says, a dark eyebrow raising. His accent is different, his vowels elongated, prose almost sigh inducing. His stance is unthreatening, he leans his body against a pillar, and his body takes up space. He is large, well muscled but not overly bulky, the markings stand out on his arms, and a small smile plays on his face.

"I want you to welcome my new Bride, Sephy Sikowitz to the Realms. Treat her like one of your own."

And then he sweeps a mocking, regal bow towards us. We bow back, the notion not as shocking as if would have been had we not been acquainted with the Kings' manner beforehand. Boots moving, quick as a flash, the expert archer he is, the King sweeps aside to introduce a young looking girl, on the verge of womanhood, she looks to say, nineteen, perhaps twenty.

But that is not what catches my eye. And the eyes of all the servants around me.

The girl, Sephy Sikowitz, is beautiful in an unconventional way, a way that isn't easily manoeuvred by other women, although it has been attempted. Her skin is a light golden, hair a darker shade of yellow, and falling down her back is soft tawny waves. She wears no rouge, or kohl around her soft green eyes. She is perfectly delicate, with rosy lips, smooth skin, and the delicate sensibility of a fragile flower.

She is the wife of Lord Dain, King of the Underworld.

Queen of the Damned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Yay, officically made it to the second chapter! **

**Hope you're enjoying the story so far :) It's not particularly conventional, or normal, but I've tried to set a (vague) outline for the story. It will definitely have a different take, though...**

Sephy

'_**Midway on our life's journey, I found myself...In dark woods, the right road lost'- Charles Dickens.**_

I don't cry often. So when I do, it's usually about something serious.

And I'm pretty sure being forced to become the King of the Underworld's concubine is serious. And now, here I am, six pomegranates later, crying like the idiot I am.

God, what was I thinking? I don't even _like _pomegranates that much. Everything had seemed like a blur when it had happened. It wasn't like I had been warned against eating them. They were there, and I was hungry...

Jesus. I try to stifle and sob and breathe in deeply, but it doesn't work. I just choke on air. Trying to compose myself, I pick at the soft silky wool of the bed sheet comforter underneath me. I don't even know where I am. Just some bedroom amidst many. If I wasn't already feeling claustrophobic...

Just the thought of my Mom's face when she found out is enough to make me start with the waterworks again. Not heartbroken, or disappointed, just practical. The harsh lines of her blanched face, her long blonde hair coiled practically behind her head.

My Mom, the Queen of the living, had handed her daughter away to the King of Death, like it was no biggie. I never imagined-

"Pity party for one?" A voice comes from behind, and I close my eyes. I can imagine him standing there, so it's not like I need to turn around. One pierced eyebrow lifted, sardonically, shoulder against the doorframe, dark hair cast against creamy the pale wall, a body that manages to be bulking and lithe at the same time.

I don't hear a sound, but before I know it, he's there, standing in front of me, merciless eyes staring down at me. Those mismatched eyes used to scare me when I was a little girl. Now that I'm older, they terrify the living daylights out of me. "You shouldn't have eaten out of my garden, if you're going to cry about it now, sweetheart." His voice is like a knife tipped with silk.

"Fuck you." I choke out, in a burst of surprising courage.

A small chuckle. I look up, and see that he's looking down at me, his mismatched eyes filled with an amused temperament that reminds me of a cat playing with the mouse it's about to eat.

"You'll be doing that soon." He says.

"How can you be so sure of yourself?" I say, scornfully, when all I feel like doing is crumbling into a million pieces. But I'll be damned if I show any weakness to him.

He sits next to me on the bed, and before I can recoil away from him, his palm cups my cheek. I can see the tattoo on his bicep, and an errant thought runs through me; I wonder what kind of king he's like, with his unconventional rules, and against-the-grain looks.

Before I can open my mouth, he leans in, his face inevitabley close. I see those mismatched eyes framed by thick dark lashes, surprisingly soft lips, high cheekbones, creamy golden skin. Probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen...

And then he's kissing me, his lips claiming mine, his hands running down my shoulders, and I let him. A flick of desire runs down my spine, and my jean clad legs open, instinctively, as he climbs on top of me, the weight of his body, sending me back against the bed sheets, his lips never leaving mine.

His body is hand, and deliciously unyielding. Trying to come to my senses, I pull away from his mouth, to push his face away from mine, except he's stronger than me, and his lips are running down my cheek, and all I can think of is, _The Lord of the Underworld is kissing me, he's kissing me, and I like it..._

It's half a relief, half an annoyance when someone clears their throat at the doorway, making me jump, and let out a little squeak. Lord Dain just growls and pushes his face into the crook of my neck. "What is it, Charon?"

I turn my head to look into a pair of dark obsidian eyes, trying to get the King off me, at the same time, like some desperate rat caught in a painful trap.

The owner of those eyes, a guy with dark hair, and an expanse of swarthy brown skin steps forwards into the light. He wears nothing but black, leather and boots which look like they could kick an average sized person into heaven and beyond. "My Lord..." he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft, almost deceptively gentle, compared to the wickedly amused glint in his eyes. I wonder whether everyone in the Underworld has a persona.

"Sorry to disturb you, but have you lost your_ fucking_ mind?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Yup, I realise that this update is probably confusing. And weird. And unreadable. And therefore you probably want to stop reading...but I promise It'll get better! And if it doesn't, I'll send you VIRTUAL COOKIES!**

**YAY!**

Gail

'_**Change places with him and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was?'- Charles Dickens**_

There are many things that I've come to accept are normal for my best friend, the King of the Underworld, Lord Dain, carrier of the name Hades, but this is beyond words.

Fucking _beyond _words.

Of course, I always knew the bastard was mad, the moment he appointed me as his second in hand. The moment I had been dragged into his courts those couple of years ago, a convict, thief, and everything in between, and he had looked down at me with those crazy ass eyes.

The first thing he had asked me was if I was good with a fucking paddle.

And the next thing I knew, I was herding the living into the realms of the Underworld.

Two years later, and I am so much more than just a boatman, or a thief. I am the Kings' second in command, his first soldier, his advisor. His best friend, too, although he has too many of those to spare.

Never did I expect this, though.

"I go away," I drawl, slowly, deliberately not taking my eyes off the girl lying on my bed, with the King sprawled out on top of her, like a lion just about to attack his prey. Although not really, because the girl's eyes are on me, big green eyes, with really long eyelashes framing them, completely unflinching. I wouldn't class her as prey. Far from it. "For half an hour, and I come back to this?"

Dain burrows his head in the girl's neck and growls. Actually fucking growls. "What do you want?" He repeats, voice muffled, but still ringing with the faint edge of danger. That cutting menace never does leave his voice, but he's clever enough to disguise it so that it sounds like cool amusement to the untrained ear.

"It's my room, man." I say, coolly.

Dain moves away from the girl, who sits up, demurely. The fact that she never pushed the King away shows that she's either a submissive coward, or sharper than the point of a needle.

I sneak another glance at her, and almost do a double take. She has long blonde hair that's longer than I expected it to be, falling in long locks down her back, like a golden waterfall. Her skin looks as soft and golden like cream and honey mixed together, and just as smooth. I have a sudden, stupid urge to bend down in front of her, and press my lips to that smooth skin. Taste it...

Dain interrupts my thoughts. Which I guess is a good thing, considering the implications if he found out I was fantasizing over his new queen. "It's my realms. I can do whatever I want."

"Jesus. You sound like a churlish baby." I say, lightly, unwrapping my belt and swinging it onto the floor. My boots thud against the floor, almost a clock chiming the beginning for rest. "I'm tired. Get out of my room."

No one else would have the balls to speak to Dain like that. I see a flicker of amusement in his mixed eyes, and raise my eyebrow.

"Of course. I'm sorry. I came to the wrong room." The girl, the Queen of the Reams, says, hurriedly. When I cast my eyes on her, again, she is rising up off the bed, her soft curves illuminated by the figure hugging fabric she's wearing.

Six Pomegranates was all it took. I smile at her, a little coldly, and she retracts, slightly. But all I say is, "Goodnight, My Lady."

"See yah tomorrow." Dain says, casually sauntering to the door. "We gotsa celebrate our first night together." He puts an arm around the Lady's slim shoulders. I don't take it as a warning when a slicker of fire burns through me at the sight of that contact.

Not when they leave the room, the only thing left on my mind, the image of the girl's pinched face, slightly pale.

Not even when I realise that I don't even know what her name is...


	4. Chapter 4

**UPDATE ALERT! ARRGHGFJRBCDXK! That is all...**

Dain

'_**It would not be wicked to love me.'- Charlotte Bronte.**_

It's times like these, when I truly appreciate the female body. Especially when it's poised on the bed, so posh, so demure. I peer at the blonde on top of the covers, sitting like she's the true Queen of the Realms, and my desire for her is barely kept in check.

I don't show it though. But then I never show emotion. It's a little trick of mine, I've learnt to perfect over the years, a weapon in my arsenal.

My Queen is staring straight at me, head tilted to the side, and chin raised slightly. She's looking down at me, through her lashes, like she's the regal one. I swallow down the rest of my brandy with a flick of my wrist, my eyes never leaving her face. I can tell she's getting nervous, the line of her throat moving as she swallows every few seconds.

When I stand up, she barely moves, but I can see the pulse at the base of her throat hammer like a little woodpecker is trying to get out of her skin. Chuckling, slightly, I sit next to her on the bed, a comfortable distance away of course. Wouldn't want to startle the dear.

She decides to make the first move, I can tell from the way she shifts slightly, to look at me, while I spread my jean clad legs wider, and recline on the bed, my arms beneath my head, and I let my lids fall to a half mast.

"How did you become King?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why do you care?"

She shifts slightly, siphoning herself to the right. "You don't seem very King like, that's all..."

I choose not to answer, decide instead, to look at her. She's conventionally beautiful, and I have a feeling she knows it. But she doesn't seem like the type to be arrogant or vain about her looks, like so many of her kind. Maybe it's because she's grown up with a woman like Demeter. "No I don't. Do you want something to drink?"

"No thanks." Unnervingly polite. So calm, and a soft body, no angles, just curve upon curve. Her skirt showcases long, lean legs that are placed together, one by one. "I have another question."

"Shoot." I say, bending my knee to hide the wood I'm sporting. Yup, I'm already hard, and I'm not even touching the girl.

Sephy's big, antifreezed eyes skim the room. "Is this where I'm going to sleep? Because I'm tired..." She trails off, leaving the rest for me to decipher. I grin.

"Of course. And yeah, this is where we'll sleep."

She registers what I've said, I can practically see the click of her brain taking in and processing my words. "I...I don't particularly think we should sleep—"

"Babe." I interrupt, my voice lazy, drawn out into a drawl. "You don't _particularly_ have a choice in the matter."

She stands up, nostrils flaring, eyes turning dark for an imperceptible second. And then, her face smoothens out and she's blank and her features are once again like a clear sheet of paper, completely unmarred by any emotion. Before she can say or do anything else, there's a sudden knock at the door.

"Come in." My voice is still it's lazy drawl, as I sit up, and lean against the headboard, examining my nails.

There's the sound of a door opening. "Does My Lord need anything."

I don't look up. One of the maids.

I gesture loosely to the side table where my empty Brandy glass is sitting, and look back up into Sephy's eyes. She's frozen, her breathing even, but there's a desperation in her eyes. And she's not looking at me, she's looking at the maid. I don't even bother to turn around, and there's a ruffling sound next to my bed, as the maid picks up my glass.

"The showers in the ensuite bathroom. Knock yourself out, baby." I say, dismissively. "I'll be waiting."

Sephy blanches, but turns, gracefully and walks out of the room. Her slim back is ramrod straight. I imagine that light blonde hair splayed on my pillow, as I lie down on her, my body flush with hers, a tangle of limbs and graceful movements. Her curves look soft enough to accompany my hardness, her neck, long and slim for me to kiss, and those killer lips would look fucking fantastic around my...

There's a thud, the sound of liquid sloshing, and then a feminine gasp.

I turn my head to see the maid kneeling by the table, dripping with brandy, all over her dress. The bottle is tipped over next to her on the side table.

"M-My Lord. I-I'm so sorry!" She says, eyes downcast, as she leaps up, and reaches for a tissue. That's when I look at her, finally. She's nothing special, plain face, hair covered with an obscene cap. Her face is pale, brown eyes frantically wiping the table.

I just lean against the table. "How stupid of you."

That's when a faint blush tints her cheeks. "I'm sorry, My Lord."

"You should be. You completely wasted my fucking Brandy." She blushes harder, and it's fun to watch, as her pale face slowly infuses with colour. I want to tip her head up, and laugh at her. "It's not cheap."

She stutters slightly, her plain grey dress completely wet, and clinging to her body. It's not without interest that I look at her.

"I am sorry, My Lord. I...I will take any punishment you give me." She looks at me, appealingly, and I suppress a grin. So solemn. And plain. It's like poking a stick at a little defenceless kitten. And I never claimed to be a merciful guy.

"Okay." I say, a grin finally winning over. A wicked one. "Strip off and do a lap dance for me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey! Check it out! Update! Sorry about the delay, but I hope you enjoy!**

Mary

'_**Do you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, that I am heartless?'- Jane Eyre**_

I laugh nervously because I believe him to be jesting. I do not know the King, have never spoken to him before, but if he thinks he is funny, he is sadly in the wrong.

"My Lord. I will go now." I say, because he's looking up at me, from his sprawled position on the bed, his mixed eyes flooded with cruel amusement. I turn to leave, but I'm not surprised when he grabs the back of my hand.

Before I or he can say anything else to each other, the new Mistress comes into the room, her long hair made longer even, by the weight of her wet, dark gold hair, and her back is straight.

Lord Dain lets go of my hand, and I snatch it back, and hold it against my chest, protectively. "You're back. And wet. Great." His voice gets deeper.

I sidle out of the room, very quickly, trying not to draw any attention to myself, I almost make it to the door, when a noise breaks the tensioned silence. The squeal of a little boy, bounding into the room, bearing a foam sword and a paper crown.

He slides into the room, and runs into me, grabbing me around the waist. I try to keep my composure when the King and his Queen's eyes turn to me, one set confused, the other amused.

"Joel," I hiss to my little brother. "What are you _doing?" _

It's just my luck, when Mercedes, a fellow Maid, off duty, and who I paid my monthly allowance to babysit Joel, comes running into the room after him, her skirts bunched up in one fist, and her sandals slapping furiously on the slippy marble floor. "Joel, you mangy little nymph, come back here! You—" She breaks off on a gasp when she catches sight of the King and Queen, both of them staring at her.

I grit my teeth, and cross my hands in front of my lap, glaring down at Joel. "Please leave." I hiss. Mercedes grabs Joel and tries to propel him out, but he keeps firm arms around my waist.

"No! I want to play Kings and Queens with Mary!" He yells.

"I—" I look at Mercedes, my cheeks flooding with warmth. Mercedes tugs harder on my little brother, but there's no stopping Joel when he's in this mood. Forcing myself to meet eyes with Lord Dain, I open my mouth to apologize, beg for forgiveness.

I'm going to be fired anyway. It's not as if Lord Hades is known for his mercy. The opposite, he's as ruthless as the devil.

"Interesting," He drawls, "How come I've never noticed you before?" Those eyes are looking right at me again, and I'm suddenly seized by a fleeting bout of shivers.

Meanwhile the Queen has focussed all her attentions on Joel, who's bounding up and down on the balls of his feet like a little monkey. Her face is really soft, as if she wants to grab my little brother and hug him.

"I—I'm sorry My Lord." I squeak and then, without another word, grab my brother and run out of the room in mortification, feeling ready to burst into tears.

The one job I had to support myself and my brother is gone. Once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry this took ages! I had a bit of a family emergency! Anyway, hope you enjoy (and hope this gets more readers too! Lol!)**

Sephy

_**'I am no bird and no net ensnares me. I am a free human being ith an independant will.'- Jane Eyre**_

The Maid scurries away, with the little boy in her arms, her cheeks flaming so brightly, they look like twin tomatoes, and I watch her, the sides of her ridiculous hat flapping away as they hit the air, swiftly. The faint pangs in my chest intensify as she leaves and when I turn to glare up at my new Lord, I find he's staring after the Main with a look in his eyes, that is half cruel, and half infatuation.

And I'm jealous.

I know I shouldn't be, that it is sick and twisted to already feel so strongly about the King, and it scares me slightly. I swallow down whatever feelings seem to be bubbling up in me, and tell myself I am tired.

If only I believed that.

Before I can unclamp my lips to speak, Lord Dain says, "I want her."

I blink, completely dumbfounded. "Excuse me."

Dain turns to me, then, and—as if realising who he's talking to and where he is—resumes his slouch against the pillows propped on the headboard, and he continues to look down at his nails, his dark eyelashes, so long and thick, cutting crescents against his skin. "I said I want you to employ her as your personal Maid."

I blink. "You...how can you say...?"

"I am the King." He says, looking up, with a cutting glance, the cold steeliness of his eyes freezing me to where I'm standing. "I can do anything. From tomorrow, she'll be your Handmaiden. You'll take her everywhere with you. Understand, sweetheart?" And then he looks up again, and the icy glare from his mismatched eyes makes me shiver. "Come here."

I oblige, sitting on the other side of the bed.

He doesn't take his eyes off his nails, and it's almost as if he's fixated on them, his gaze sweeping the cuticles over and over again. "Take off your clothes."

I feel myself blanche. But, sneaking a sideways glance at my new lover sprawled like a giant, lazy cat, something hot, and wild strikes me, like a lightning bolt. I'm not a virgin, I've had sex before, and enjoyed it, but it's never felt this hot, this carnal bug that feels like it's been sitting in the pit of my stomach and has only now decided to spread its tentacles.

"I..." My voice is weak. I hear a soft, slow chuckle next to me, and flinch, especially when I feel a pair of hands sliding through my hair, pushing the wild, wet tangle over one shoulder. His lips brush my throat, and I start to pull away, only his arms clamps around my waist and pulls me back. "Not tonight."

"Why not?" There's a frown in his voice. "Are you, bleeding through your No-Zone or what?"

I laugh. I can't help it. "No, I'm not on my _period._ I just don't want to have sex with you."

There's another sweep through my hair, and soft press of his lips under my ear. "You know no one's ever said that to me before."

"I can tell." I whisper. And then I give myself in to the sensation of his lips against the fragile skin of my cheek for a few seconds, before pushing him away. "It's never too late to experience something new."

I can tell my Lord doesn't appreciate my sense of humour, despite all his casually flopping back onto the bed and raising one dark eyebrow. There's anger in his eyes, and it crackles, like fire burning at its strongest. "You will deny me?"

I press a hand to my mouth and yawn. "You'll be fine." I say, and then lie down on the bed, as far away from him as possible, turn away from him, on my side and close my eyes. It's almost like I'm waiting for something to happen, for him to grab me, twist me on the bed to face him, and push his mouth over mine, for him to run those hands all over me, and cover me with his body. I almost moan aloud.

And then I remember where and who I am. I curl into myself with shame.

He doesn't touch me. Instead, he slides off the bed, gracefully, and slips out of the door, without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi hope you like!**

Gail

'_**There is nothing better than a friend.'- Charles Dickens**_

I'm pacing my room, my best sword, Giselda Rosalina, in my hand, when Dain decides to burst in wielding a bottle of Gin, and cursing like a sailor. I sigh, and slump back in the conveniently placed leather chair, and watch him over the horizontal rim of my sword.

"She's a fucking cocktease. You know that I need to fuck when I'm this horny." He splutters out, his dark hair wildly tussled, and his odd stare is narrowed. He looks ready to pound himself into the nearest wall with frustration.

I chuckle, I can't help it. "Well unfortunately I'm not your type." I say, amused.

"She's a prude." He snarls, completely ignoring me. I feel a twinge of resentment when he says this, not for me, but for the blonde haired girl, the brief glance of her beauty, soft green eyes, and the rosebud lips, and the high blush, the creamy skin, who's been pulled out of her home and forced into this cold, dark castle just for eating a bunch of pomegranates. Fucking tough love.

I don't know her at all and I pity her.

I turn Giselda in my hands around a couple of times, leaning my elbows on the chair handles, all the while looking up at Hades. He's calmed down, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "She's not a prude. She's tired. And upset. Give her a break, man."

Dain growls low in his throat, his dark head bent to the floor. "I need to fuck."

"I realise that." I say with a tired sigh. Sometimes it's not easy being the calm one. People don't seem to realise how fucking hard it is to regain composure at all times, never lose your cool. Especially a hot headed guy like Dain, with his white fury and cold eyes that can slice through the strongest of men with just one pithy glance. "Brothel down the street. Georgette's, in fact. They'll be ecstatic to see you."

Dain raises his head then. "I don't go to Brothels, Gail. You know that." His eyes harden. "I don't just sleep with any common bitch."

I roll up my sleeves, put Giselda down on the table next to me, and heave another long sigh that lasts approximately ten seconds. "Then what are you doing here? Go seduce her. If that's what it takes." The words feel weird in my mouth, jumbled up and wrong. I imagine the King holding the girl in his arms, moving against her, running his fingers through her long hair...

I don't like it.

"I will." He smirks at me, his composure loose and more relaxed, his arms crossed at his chest.

I frown at him. "You will have her consent first."

Dain laughs then. It's a free laugh, one that's at ease. "Trust me. She'll submit to me, and when she does it will be because she fucking wants it." I look up at my best friend, undetectable feelings boiling in my veins, as if someone's turned on the kettle inside my body.

"Well then." I say, lightly, flicking imaginary lint off the arms of my chair. "You have nothing to worry about do you?"

"I know, man, I know." Dain sighs, dragging his hand over his face. "I'm not good with patience."

I grin. "Really? I didn't know." Getting up, I pull on the lapels of my jacket, do it up, and start to walk out of the room. "I'm going to the Brothel. Sometimes those common bitches just do it for a guy." I add, quoting his words with a half hearted grin.

Dain pushes himself off the wall he's been leaning on and salutes me, swiping a bottle of G&T from the glass table and taking a graceful swig. "Sayonara."

I walk out of the room, but not before catching sight of a shadow in the hallway. There's a flick of blonde hair, and then a soft gasp. Taking out my favourite Dagger, Mick, I swing it around a couple of times, and then look straight at the figure.

She's hiding behind the pillar, her eyes wide. She doesn't think I can see her. Too bad for her, I have a spectacular periphery.

Sighing, I swing the dagger a couple more times, look right at the King's new mistress, and acknowledge that I've seen her by doing the exact same thing Dain just did to me. I salute her, with two fingers.

And then smirking at her low, awkward cough, I saunter out of the castle.


	8. Chapter 8

Dain

'_**This way a good soul never passes.'- (The Gates of Hell), Dante's Inferno.**_

I sit on Charon's evacuated chair, tilting my head back every so often, and swigging down another heady swallow of Jack Daniels, and letting the feel of slow, steady numbness enter my veins.

All the while, the mental images of anguish never stop. And I love it. Even though I feel like I should worry, although why I think so is a total mind fuck anyway, considering that 'worry' isn't in my little head dictionary.

It's not the unusual type of mental anguish. It's the type that's so common, every time it happens, it feels relieving, like a masochist letting pain envelope him, deform his soul, and mould him into a creature that feels pleasure from the type of sorrow that takes his breath away.

There's a soft snick. And then a small outlet of breath. Disturbing my thoughts, my fucking thoughts, which shouldn't be disturbed. This mindset isn't healthy, but it's not like I give a shit. It's not like I've ever given a shit.

That's not true, I think, letting my eyes slit open, slightly, and observing the slight opening of the door, that wasn't there before. The gentle fall of slow, but determined footsteps can be heard from all the way over here. I get up and walk towards the door, lazy, and laid back—stumbling slightly, but not enough for anyone to notice, but me.

Pulling the door open, I silently walk towards the noise, until I'm right behind it, and then I'm pulling at her dirty, rough textured dress, and watching as her cap slips away, and the ribbon holding the knot of her hair back falls down with it to the ground, and all of a sudden there's a waterfall, a fucking _waterfall, _of hair, cascading over my hands, and brushing my face, and that waterfall is an unimaginably beautiful shade of red, but, it's not quite red. It's more amber, and red, and dark magenta, and more red, and even some soft shades of orange, and it's like watching an open flame, but more breathtaking.

Definitely more dangerous.

The waterfall frames a pale face, lightly freckled. Dark eyes, that I've seen before, with the same terror saturated in the depths of those pupils. Her pupils aren't mismatched, I note, although why the fuck they should be is beyond me. _I'm_ the abnormality here.

"M-My Lord?" She says, and her hands have come up and they're trying to push me away; the effort so pathetic, I laugh. "Is there something you require."

"Nah." I say, smiling a half smile. Do I look manic enough? She looks terrified. "It's coincidental that I've only started to notice you after gaining a Mistress, isn't it, sweetheart?"

"I don't know..." She starts to say, but I cut her off.

"This hair," I mutter, grabbing fistfuls of her waterfall. "Why the _fuck_ do you keep it in this shit-ugly cap?" All the while, I'm bringing chunks of the fiery substance to my nose, like a creep. I don't really care though. It smells like sandalwood and some other indefinable substance. Which is a contrast to her dress, which smells like stale bread and dirt.

She uses her soft, weak hands to push at me again. "No point," I say, with a smirk. "I work out. I'm a jousting champion. You gotta know that." My words are even more slurred, and is it me, or are her plain brown eyes getting wider and more fascinating? How can brown eyes be so fucking fascinating? What the fuck is so special about them...? They're fucking brown for Christ's sake. Not like my eyes.

Mine are abnormal. Cursed. The Devil's eyes on a Devil child.

"My Lord," Her words are so clear, and I find myself leaning forwards, to breath in the scent of Sandalwood. She stops talking, her words trailing off into a sort of choked squeal, when my lips make contact with her neck, and her arms try to push at me, but it's all in vain.

I never said I wasn't difficult. "Carry on." I mumble into her skin, breathing in and out. There's something about her scent that makes it hard to focus on anything else but _her_. I wonder vaguely if she's a witch with a spell book, and herbs and potions, which can make a man fall into her trap, and oddly, the image of her with herbs in her hands, and a crusher is oddly erotic, and familiar, although...

"My Lord. You're drunk ." Her voice is stronger, more forceful, but her eyes are still scared, and I feel like a bully.

"That's not my name," I whisper in her ear, and then lick the shell. She swallows, and then gasps as my teeth bite the lobe, her body arches under mine, and when I stare into those plain, but not so plain, brown eyes once again, I see something that resolves my decision.

I see desire.

Picking her up is effortless, and there's a brief and entertaining period, where she tries to protest, but I kiss her, to keep her quiet. She's my object, and I will use her like the fuckshit I am. "Please." I hear her whisper in my ear. "Don't. My brother's waiting for me, and he's scared of the dark. I can't leave him alone."

So kind. And sweet. Who the fuck does she think she's kidding, this bitch? "Well then, we'd better do this fast."

When she tries to push against my chest again, I stop walking. "You don't want this?"

She shakes her head.

I set her down. "Go then."

She doesn't go, watching me wearily. Either she's very stupid or very clever. "You'll have me fired." Her voice is husky, why have I not noticed that before? It's husky and yet not grating, almost melodic.

I raise an eyebrow, and try not to stare at the curling tendrils of fire that fall down her back, to her waist, licking the soft pale skin of her throat, and the sides of her face, as if they're showing me their possession, trying to make me jealous. Which is stupid, how can someone be jealous of hair. "No." I say. "I won't."

I'm fucking jealous of the hair.

Her chin raises, and my eyebrow goes up higher. Does she consider herself a spitfire? How laughable. She's the most submissive thing I've fucking met. "You're drunk, My Lord."

"That's not my name."

"And," she continues, "You will not remember this night. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

My eyes close. Talk about a stupid girl. Why won't she just fucking run? "Either run, or spread your legs, bitch. Either way stop talking _at_ me like I'm your friend."

She nods, her face resigned, and then turns to walk away, not looking back at me. I grab at her before she can walk away. "Too late," I hiss in her ear, pulling her close, close enough for us to be one person almost.

She sighs and when I put my mouth over hers, she kisses me back, causing me to growl and push her into the wall, her legs wrapped around me and her arms around my neck. The smell of sandalwood, and that other scent, which smells good, almost like sweet soil and apples, envelops me, surrounds us like a film.

"I can't...you can't fire me." She whispers in my ear, and I push her harder into the wall, put my mouth over hers. But it's not her mouth I'm thinking of...it's someone else's mouth. Someone else's hair.

And suddenly there's a sound behind me, a throat clear, and I let go of the Maid and turn around to face that someone else I've been thinking of for the past two hours.


End file.
